Chapter 22
Posted: July 25, 2007 - 01:31:53 pm


Mike looked around at his surroundings overwhelmed by the idea that he was actually standing in the Oval Office of the White House. All of his previous trips had been to meetings held in other parts of the building. In awe at the thought of the history that had been made in that room, Mike said, "Wow."

"What are you doing here?" the President asked looking up from the report he was reading and seeing Mike standing at the door.

Mike held out a single sheet of paper typed on White House Stationary and said, "I've brought something for you to sign, Mr. President."

The President looked at Mike for a minute and then, with a nasty smile on his face, said, "It must hurt like hell to call me Mr. President."

Mike ignored the jab and approached the President's desk. On reaching it, he said, "This is a Presidential Executive Order in your name. We'd appreciate it if you would sign it."

The President grabbed the sheet of paper out of Mike's hand and, without even looking at it, said, "You bastards in Homeland Security just can't wait to take over the country."

"Read it," Mike said in a hard voice. He walked over to the window and looked out at the view. Mentally he reviewed the key elements of the document. Previous Presidents, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and a member of the Intelligence 100 were to sit on an oversight committee with full access to all on-going intelligence gathering activities involving American Citizens. They were charged with upholding the civil rights of American Citizens, but only American Citizens. They would have the power to halt any activity that crossed the line. He waited a few minutes for the President to finish reading it and turned to look at the man.

The document was not what the President had been expecting to read. Stunned by the contents of the document, he looked up at Mike and asked, "What is this?"

"It is an attempt to keep the Constitution of this country alive and well," Mike answered convinced that it would do no good. He was there on the very slim chance that it would help. Very few assignments given to Marines were pleasant and some were worse than others, but this was the hardest of Mike's career.

"You are placing me on an oversight committee that is to prevent abuses of power within the intelligence community?" the President asked stunned by what he had read.

"No. You will establish the oversight committee and will join it when the next President is sworn into office," Mike answered.

The President picked up a pen and signed the document with a smile. The idea that he would oversee the intelligence community even after he left office was just too good to ignore. He handed the paper back to Mike and said, "It is signed."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Mike said. He turned and left the office without waiting to be dismissed. The idea that he would be working with the man for the next few years made him sick to his stomach. No one had ever said that a Marine had to like the dirty jobs that came his way, only that they would get the job done or die trying. As he walked away, he muttered, "Semper Fi."

It was nearly ten at night and Mike was hard at work. He looked over the outputs of the face recognition program after having fed videos from several bus stations into it. One of those bus stations was located in Cleveland, Ohio. There were several dozen hits, but the certainty factors on most of them were pretty low. There was one exception. Grinning, he looked up and said, "I think I found one."

There was no one else in the office other than the Marine Guards. They looked over at him and basically ignored him. Listening to Mike mutter to no one in particular wasn't an uncommon event after hours. Three nights a week he stayed late to hunt down individual terrorists. It seemed to them that he found one every other week.

Mike brought up the video and watched the terrorist who had been identified by the program move around the bus station. The man had gotten onto a bus that would take him to Milwaukee. After pulling up information on the bus schedule, Mike saw that the man would be on the bus for another four hours. After a few keystrokes on the keyboard, a picture of the terrorist, along with a warning that the man was passing through their area, was sent to every police station between Cleveland and Milwaukee. Grinning, Mike picked up the phone and dialed the Milwaukee police station.

On a Friday evening, Mike returned home from work to discover Sun Yung waiting for him in the living room. This was the first time he had seen the man since the initial meeting. He could hear Kim muttering in the kitchen and wondered what had happened before his arrival. Feeling the onset of a headache, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I have brought plans for your garden retreat," Sun answered.

"Garden retreat?"

"Yes," the gardener answered. He held out a stack of papers and said, "The top sheets are drawings of what I have planned and the bottom sheets explain how much the various options will cost."

Mike looked at the first drawing. It showed an enclosed patio with glass walls. He figured that was going to cost a fortune. Inside the patio area was a water feature consisting of a small waterfall that fed a pool. He asked, "Is this supposed to be a spa or a fish pond?"

"It is a small bathing pond for two," Sun answered with a nod of his head. He added, "It will be surrounded by ferns and other plants that like a little humidity. The idea is that it will be like you are surrounded by nature despite the small area used."

Nodding his head, Mike looked at the plans again. He noticed that there privacy curtains that would allow him to block the view into the patio from the neighbors. He said, "It will be hot in the summer."

"The glass walls slide open like the patio doors that you have now. In fact, there will be six pairs of sliding doors as the exterior of the patio," Sun said.

"What if I want the bathing pond to hold four?" Mike asked finding that the idea was beginning to grow on him.

Smiling and bowing, Sun answered, "That is the second drawing."

"Oh," Mike said turning to the next drawing. It was basically the same design, but there was a three foot solid wall between the pairs of sliding doors along the side. He liked it better than the first one.

"Plants will surround the entire room. There will be grow lights above so that the plants will have plenty of light. You will be able to dim the lights in order to set the appropriate mood. The room will be heated so that the plants will grow year round," Sun said after Mike had been studying the plans for several minutes.

"I really like this one. How much is it?" Mike asked.

"Close to twelve thousand dollars," Sun answered.

"That's too much," Mike said shaking his head. The idea had really appealed to him.

"Not the next one, but the one after that is the same design, but it is only seven thousand dollars," Sun said.

Mike shuffled through the stack of papers until he reached the one Sun had mentioned. It looked like the one he liked. Without looking at the details, he asked, "What's different?"

"I use much cheaper materials. The roof is simpler with wood and no shingles. The walls are plain and I only use glass along half of the walls. All is done much cheaper," Sun answered. He was pretty sure that was the one that Mike would choose. When he had shown the plans to Sanjay and Teva they had wanted him to build one for them.

"I guess we'll do that one," Mike said.

"Good."

It was eleven at night and Mike was at the office searching video feeds from around the country for another terrorist to nab. There was a lot of chatter about the upcoming holidays, but it looked like the terrorists were lying low for the moment. He was about to give up for the night when the telephone rang. He answered it wondering who would be calling him at the office that late at night. Picking up the handset he said, "Hello. You've reached Mike Bowman of Homeland Security."

"Mike! This is Sanjay. Teva just gave birth to a baby girl," Sanjay said excited about the birth of another child. Although they had been hoping for a boy, he was just as pleased that it was a girl.

The child was born a week late despite the fact that it was Teva's third child. Pleased to hear the news, Mike said, "Oh, that's great. Congratulations. I'm glad to hear that. What are you going to name her?"

There was a slight pause and then Sanjay said, "We wanted to ask your permission to name her Karen."

The request took Mike totally by surprise. Choking up, he said, "You have my permission. Karen would have been honored."

"Thank you, Mike," Sanjay said hearing the man's voice crack when he said the name of his late wife.

"How is Teva?" Mike asked remembering how Karen had been while giving birth. He wondered if Teva had cursed Sanjay for getting her pregnant.

"She's doing fine. It was an easy birth," Sanjay answered. Teva had been in labor for only two hours.

"That's good," Mike said looking down at his left hand. Knowing that Kim would want to see the Teva and the baby, Mike said, "I'm going to swing by the house and pick up Kim. We'll be up at the hospital in twenty minutes."

"Great. I'll see you when you get here. I've got to call my parents now," Sanjay said.

It was closer to thirty minutes before Mike and Kim arrived at the hospital. Kim ran off without waiting for Mike in order to find Teva. It took Mike another ten minutes before he found Sanjay standing at the window of the natal care unit looking at the baby. As Mike approached, he asked, "Which one is Karen?"

"That one," Sanjay said, "The third one from the right."

Mike smiled at the infant and said, "She's cute. You're lucky that she takes after her mother."

For all intents and purposes, Mike was alone in the Internet Café. The only other people there were the Marines guarding the place. It was Christmas Eve and everyone else was at home for the day. Mike was there by choice rather than obligation. There was no other place where he wanted to spend the day. Sitting around the house only reminded him of what he had lost while sitting in the office allowed him to get back at those who had stolen his wife and child from him.

Mike watched the situation board as reports of terrorist actions slowly scrolled past. The majority of the messages were about suicide bombers killing themselves in crowded shopping malls. The malls that had implemented security procedures at the entrances were having the suicide bombers blow themselves up at the doors where crowds of people were waiting to clear security. Those that hadn't taken steps to keep the mall safe had bombers blowing themselves up in the crowded lines. It was a no-win situation for the good guys.

It was still early in the day and the death toll was climbing. He figured that at night the messages would be about church burnings. While Christians prayed to God at the midnight masses, Satan's minions would be throwing Molotov Cocktails into the churches. He hoped that local police departments were smart enough to station men at all of the churches with orders to shoot to kill if anyone tried to burn down the church.

Thoughts about deaths at the shopping malls served to remind him why he was alone that day. He tried to remember what he had done the previous Christmas, but it was a complete blank. He couldn't even remember what he had done over the previous Thanksgiving. Feeling depressed, he said, "Merry Fucking Christmas."

The telephone rang and he reached over to answer it. Holding the handset to his ear, he said, "Hello. You've reached Mike Bowman."

"What are you doing there?"

Hearing his father-in-law's voice, Mike cringed. He had ignored the invitation to visit Karen's parents Christmas Eve. He had forgotten that his parents had invited him to come over on Christmas Day. Mike answered, "I'm watching the situation board."

"You are supposed to be here," Vincent said.

"I'm not good company," Mike said wanting to duck out of spending the evening with Karen's parents.

"Neither are we," Vincent said, "Get your ass over here before I have to order a couple of sailors to come get you."

"Yes, Admiral," Mike said with a tired sigh. All he really wanted to do was to pretend that it was just another day. The words were barely out of his mouth when he heard the sound of the call being disconnected.

One of the Marines looked in his direction and smiled. Shaking his head, he said, "Rank does have its privileges."

"You can say that again," Mike said getting out of his chair. He wasn't looking forward to fighting the traffic.

"Mike, I'm worried about you," Vincent said as he handed the younger man a Scotch.

"Why?"

"You aren't living," Vincent said taking a chair so that he was facing Mike.

Mike took a sip of his scotch and tried to shrug off the comment with a joke, "That's funny. The last time I looked I was still breathing."

"You know what I mean. You go to work and then you go home. Unless someone twists your arm, you don't go anywhere or talk to anyone. You're living with that housekeeper and I bet you don't even talk to her," the Admiral said.

"I talk to her," Mike said rather defensively.

The Admiral nodded his head and said, "I bet you can't tell me the simplest things about her. Where was she born? When is her birthday? How old is she? What did she do before she started working for you? Was she ever married? Does she have any kids?"

"I know she was born in Hong Kong," Mike answered.

"I'm impressed that you knew that much. Did she tell you that?" Vincent asked.

"I checked her passport to make sure that she was in the country legally. I didn't want to lose my clearance because I was hiding an illegal alien in my house," Mike said. His justification sounded weak even as he said it.

"I bet that was a very interesting discussion," Vincent said sarcastically.

"Not really," Mike answered staring blankly at the middle of the floor. He had asked to see her passport, she had handed it to him, and he had handed it back after looking at it.

"So what do you talk about?" Vincent asked.

Shrugging his shoulders, Mike answered, "We talk about stuff around the house. She tells me what she's made for dinner. I tell her if I need some laundry done."

"Is that all?" Vince asked.

"I guess we don't talk that much."

Vincent snorted at the admission. Deciding to change the subject a little, he asked, "Have you started dating?"

"No," Mike snapped surprising himself with quickly he had gotten angry. He took a sip of his Scotch and tried to calm down.

"I didn't think so," Vincent said with a sigh. He thought quite highly of Mike, but he didn't like how the man was isolating himself from people. He said, "It has been more than a year since she died. In fact, it has been almost two years. You need to get on with your life."

Sally entered the room carrying a glass of wine. She sat down and looked at the two men. Mike looked angry and Vincent looked sad. She had known what her husband wanted to discuss with Mike and it looked like it was going as badly as she had feared. She took a sip of her wine and said, "General Moore's daughter could use an escort to the New Years Eve Ball at the Watergate Hotel."

Jaw clenched, Mike took a deep breath to keep from saying something that he would regret. In a measured voice, he said, "I wish her luck in finding one."

Sally frowned at the obvious rejection. She said, "It has been almost two years. You are a young man. Karen wouldn't want you to give up like this."

Taking another swallow of the scotch, Mike said, "I'm not ready. Let's drop the subject."

"We're just worried about you," Vincent said. He had heard that Mike was spending his evenings at work hunting terrorists. It seemed like every week or two there would be a news report about some high level terrorist taken out as a result of a late night call from Homeland Security. Vincent was convinced that Mike was responsible.

Wondering how much longer he had to stay there, Mike said, "I'm fine."

"Dinner is ready," Sally said to fill the uncomfortable silence that had descended on the room.

Mike left the house right after dinner convinced that he had met his social obligations despite the fact that his departure was rather abrupt and without warning. Vincent and Sally were left staring at his retreating back as he left the house. They looked over at the present for Mike that was nestled under the Christmas tree. Shaking his head, Vincent said, "That boy is in a world of hurt."

"He really loved Karen," Sally said wiping the tears from her eyes.

The next day, Mike arrived at his parents' house just before Christmas dinner was to be served. There was a repeat of the conversation about him getting a life, but his mother was a lot less circumspect in telling him to start dating again. Although they never exchanged any harsh words, the entire visit had been quite tense. He left shortly after Christmas dinner.

It wasn't until he was on his way home that Mike realized that he hadn't bought any presents for anyone. He hadn't even thought about exchanging presents. Feeling like a total asshole, he pulled over to the side of the highway. As cars rushed past at seventy miles an hour, Mike rested his head on the steering wheel and cried.

Although Mike was a member of the Intelligence 100, that didn't mean he was a particularly high level person within the CIA branch of Homeland Security. In fact, he had taken over Dale Dawson's position. There were many levels of management above him. His boss, Chip Newel, was a nice guy who was concerned with results and only results. Since Mike's group was producing very valuable results, he preferred not to mess with a good thing. Mike's interactions with Chip were via conference calls in which he gave his weekly status reports. Thus it was a surprise when Mike was told to report to the temporary CIA auxiliary headquarters for a meeting with his boss.

Mike pulled into the parking lot of the converted grocery store. This had been the temporary headquarters after the attack on the old CIA building, but upper management had moved to another and better location. It had become the home for middle management. It hurt to think about how the CIA had fallen to the point where the majority of management was housed in such a poor facility.

The building still looked like a grocery store. The glass windows had been painted black to keep prying eyes from looking inside. The doors still opened when someone approached them. The old rack for parking shopping carts was still in place. The most significant detail that suggested it was something other than a grocery store were the cement barricades that separated the parking area from the store and the Marines guarding the building.

Mike went to the front door and watched as it swung open for him. He entered and presented his identification to the Marine at the door. The man had an M-16 slung over his shoulder. This was not a cursory inspection of his identification. The guard swept the card through a reader and looked at the screen comparing the person with the image retrieved from a database. Mike had to have his fingerprint read by an optical scanner. After a couple of questions to further verify his identity, the Marine said, "You're on the list of expected visitors. If you'll wait in the next room, someone will come to get you."

The guard pressed a button and there was a click as the magnetic lock released the door into the building. The door was a lot heavier than it looked. Mike stepped into the room and found that it was a small sitting area with three Marines stationed there. They watched the live video of the entrance. Each of them was carrying an M-16.

Mike took a seat to wait for someone to get him. There weren't any magazines to read so he was left just looking at the four walls, the live video of a door that hadn't opened in ten minutes, and the three Marines. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes passed without anything happening. Finally after thirty minutes had passed, Chip entered the room and said, "Sorry about the wait, Mike."

"No problem," Mike replied. He followed Chip through the door. Inside was a huge room that was a maze of cubicles. Mike followed Chip through the maze thinking that he would never find his way out. Chip led him into a conference room.

Once there Chip pointed to a chair and said, "Have a seat."

"Sure, what's up?" Mike asked.

Taking a seat, Chip looked over at Mike and said, "Last week we had two agents lose it. They killed eighteen judges, six reporters, and blew up an office occupied by the ACLU. This week, we had another analyst who took out another dozen lawyers from the ACLU. The same kind of thing has been happening with people who work in the other agencies under Homeland Security."

"Why didn't I hear about that on the news?" Mike asked. He wasn't exactly surprised by the targets having heard too many jokes and comments about that subject from others in Homeland Security. It was rather frightening to think that so many of his colleagues were losing control like that. In a weird way, he was surprised that the President was still alive.

Chip said, "There has been so much killing lately that a judge and lawyer just doesn't make the kind of exciting hardcopy that it used to."

"Okay," Mike said. He wondered why he had been brought there to discuss this matter. Keeping track of what other members of Homeland Security was well outside his area of concern. Wondering if one of the people who worked for him had been involved, he asked, "So why are you telling me this?"

Chip slid an envelope across the table to Mike and said, "It was decided by the folks upstairs that all employees are to have twice a week sessions with psychologists. Every month the psychologist is to report a go/no go verdict on the employee's fitness to work. If the psychologist is particularly worried, they can issue a no go verdict at any time. If it is a no go, then the employee will be excused until the psychologist reports that the person is fit to work. Anyone out for more than three months will go on disability."

"You're kidding?" Mike said eyeing the envelope. He could imagine how the people working for him would react to that little piece of news. He was not looking forward to telling them.

"No, I'm not. The pressure on our people is staggering. The suicide rate among analysts is at an all time high. There's nothing worse than identifying that a situation is about to erupt and have your assessments discounted by political types. Hearing that another hundred people you could have saved have died is brutal on the psyche. Field agents are working under a microscope. They're cracking up left and right. We've lost too many talented people to risk losing more," Chip said. It was going to take a decade for the agency to recover from the loss of manpower over the past four years.

Mike picked up the envelope and asked, "What's in this?"

"That contains the names of the psychologists that have been assigned to your people," Chip answered.

Shaking his head, Mike said, "My people are not going to be too happy about this. Not only do they have to work forty hours a week, they get to lose two evenings as well."

"The psychologists are all within two miles of your location. This visit is part of their jobs and they will do it during normal working hours," Chip said.

"That's a little better, but I don't look forward to telling them that the CIA thinks they are about to crack up," Mike said.

"You're taking it well," Chip said with a weak smile.

"What?" Mike asked surprised by the statement.

"I said that every employee will visit a psychologist. That includes me and you," Chip said gesturing towards himself and then at Mike.

Mike sat back in his chair and stared at Chip. Protesting, he said, "Oh come on. They can't be serious."

"Everyone," Chip said in a much firmer voice.
Lazlo Zalezac
Chapter 23